Chapter 342: The Gathering of the Twelve
The halls of Olympus had not known silence for centuries. Laughter, bickering, and the constant thunder of divine debates had always filled the air, a ceaseless storm of power and pride. But now—after word spread of what had happened in the mortal seas—silence reigned.
The champions had failed.
Not merely failed. They had been shattered.
Three hand-picked warriors, forged by the gods themselves, clad in artifacts blessed by Olympus, had marched to challenge Poseidon. The mortal world had trembled with anticipation, certain that the drowned god would be brought to heel. Yet when the battle ended, no triumphant hymn echoed back across the heavens. Only screams, salt, and silence.
Even now, fragments of their broken weapons washed upon the coasts of men. Their blood stained the tide.
Poseidon had not only defeated them—he had drowned their legacy.
At the heart of Olympus, the Hall of Aether stood tall, its crystalline dome casting down eternal daylight. It was here that the Olympian Twelve convened. But today, that light seemed dimmed, as though even the heavens recoiled from the truth.
Zeus sat upon the high throne, hand gripping his lightning scepter so tightly the air cracked with each pulse of his fury. His beard bristled like storm clouds, and his gaze—usually sharp and commanding—was distant, fixed on the golden floor below as if he could not look his council in the eye.
"To fall..." Hera whispered from her seat beside him, her emerald crown trembling with every syllable. "To fall so utterly, before the eyes of mortals... they will doubt us."
Apollo leaned forward, his golden harp silent in his lap. "It was not just defeat. It was spectacle. Poseidon made certain their screams carried. He wanted the world to watch."
Athena’s hand curled into a white-knuckled fist on the table. "A calculated blow against our authority. He is not merely fighting us—he is undermining Olympus itself. Every city, every temple, every prayer will shift to him if this continues."
"Blasphemy," Ares snarled, armor clattering as he slammed his fist down. His war-scarred face twisted into a scowl. "One drowned rat of a god cannot unseat Olympus. I’ll march myself if I must, and I’ll tear his throat with my own teeth!"
The echo of his voice rolled through the chamber, but not a single god cheered. Even Ares, for all his fury, caught the hesitation in the others’ eyes.
For the first time, Olympus was afraid.
"Do you not feel it?" Hestia asked softly, her flame flickering on the central hearth. The goddess of the home, usually gentle, was pale, her fire dimmed. "It is not only the sea that answers him. The mortal hearts... they sway toward him, like grass toward a storm wind."
Demeter’s eyes narrowed. "The crops near the coasts rot overnight. The rains come when he wills it, not when I call. My dominion falters. Already, villages light incense to his name for good harvests."
"Mine too," Artemis admitted grimly. "The tides swallow hunting grounds. The beasts that drank from the rivers now bow to him. Even the wolves howl less to me and more to the sea."
Zeus’s head snapped up, lightning surging around him. "ENOUGH." His voice cracked like thunder, shaking the crystal dome. "Do you mean to say that Olympus bends before a single god? That you will cower while Poseidon claws his way from the depths?"
But his words rang hollow. Each god present remembered the champions—how strong they had been, how much power Olympus had invested in them. And yet, Poseidon had broken them as if they were mortals, their bodies dashed like driftwood.
The silence stretched again.
Finally, Hermes—ever the messenger, ever the sly observer—spoke. "Perhaps we are not fighting Poseidon alone." His eyes flicked between the council, lips curving in something that was not quite a smile. "You all heard the name whispered in the mortal realm. The drowned one. The abyss that even gods dare not speak of. Thalorin."
A shiver rippled through the council. The name fell like lead in the chamber.
Hera scowled. "That monster was cast into the Rift. He should not exist."
"And yet," Hermes said smoothly, "mortal tongues whisper it. And mortals are not wise enough to conjure such a name without... prompting."
Athena’s brow furrowed. "You suggest Poseidon is no longer merely Poseidon. That he... carries something older."
"Something deeper," Hermes corrected.
Ares slammed his hand again, sparks leaping from his gauntlet. "Old monster or not, I’ll carve his heart out!"
"You cannot," Hades said at last, his voice cold as the grave. The Lord of the Underworld rarely left his shadows, but tonight he sat tall, obsidian robes swallowing light. His black eyes fixed on Zeus. "Not with force. Not with rage. You have already thrown champions at him, and he fed them to the sea. If you throw yourselves, he will drown Olympus entire."
The air thickened at his words. Even Zeus did not speak.
It was Hera who broke the silence. "Then what do you propose, brother of shadows? That we sit idle while he gathers worshippers? That we let mortals abandon Olympus for his tides? He has already stolen Demeter’s fields and Artemis’s beasts. What will he take next? My throne? Yours?"
Her words struck deep, for each god was already feeling Poseidon’s influence gnawing at their domains.
Athena’s voice rang with steel. "We must think beyond wrath. He is not a storm we can weather. He is a tide, and tide cannot be stopped—it can only be redirected."
Zeus’s lightning dimmed. He looked at her with something like grudging respect. "You speak of strategy."
"Yes." Athena’s gaze sharpened. "If Poseidon has truly merged with this... Thalorin... then Olympus cannot meet him in open war. We must fracture him. Cut him from within."
Hermes smirked faintly. "Divide the tide. Clever. Dangerous, but clever."
"Dangerous?" Ares barked. "It reeks of cowardice!"
"Cowardice kept Olympus alive through the Titanomachy," Hades said flatly. "Caution is not cowardice. It is survival."
Zeus finally stood, lightning humming faintly in his veins. "Enough. We cannot agree tonight, but this I decree—Poseidon shall not be left to grow unchecked. If war is not the path, then we will weave one. Athena, Hermes—you will prepare the threads. And if war is the path..." His eyes burned toward Ares. "...then we shall meet him at the gates of Olympus itself."
The council trembled as his words sealed into fate.
Far below, in the ruins of drowned harbors and shattered coastlines, mortals whispered Poseidon’s name. Not as prayer. Not as curse. But as inevitable.
Fishermen offered their first catch to the waves. Farmers poured their seed into saltwater rather than soil. Even kings bent their knees in the surf, swearing oaths to the god who answered faster than Olympus ever had.
And Poseidon heard them.
In the abyss, his eyes opened.
The sea pulsed once.
And Olympus shuddered.
Authors note
Mass Release sponsored by Pikachu boy